


Slayer’s Blood

by badly_knitted



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Community: fic_promptly, Doomed Relationship, Episode: s03e22 Graduation Day Part II, F/M, Love, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badly_knitted/pseuds/badly_knitted
Summary: There’s a richness to human blood that vampires crave, but the blood of a Slayer eclipses even that.





	Slayer’s Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my own prompt ‘Any fandom with vampires, any, the rich taste of blood,’ at fic_promptly.
> 
> **Spoilers:** Graduation Day.

Pig’s blood: that was what Angel drank now. It sustained him, fuelled his body, kept him ‘alive’ as far as a vampire could be considered to be alive, but it didn’t satisfy him. It tasted bland, not like human blood at all.

Human blood, in some way he couldn’t begin to explain, even to himself, carried a wealth of emotions, adding unfathomable depths to its richness. Fear was the best, but anger, hatred, greed, and lust were good too. Pigs… They had emotions, but they were less sophisticated, somehow muted to a vampire’s palate, or perhaps it was just that the blood wasn’t fresh, drunk from a glass rather than taken direct from a victim. Maybe the emotional content faded over time. As far as he knew, no vampire had ever bothered to do research on the subject. Vampires were more inclined to just feed, kill, and move on. 

Except for him now. No more killing, and no drinking human blood. He was through with that for good. He couldn’t redeem his human soul, it would be forever stained by the depraved acts of his vampire past, but at least he could refrain from adding more, and he would, for eternity, or until someone, human, vampire, demon, or Slayer, ended his existence.

Or so he told himself.

He would have kept that vow, fully intended to after he returned from the Hell dimensions, human soul once again residing alongside the demon that had taken root in his body so long ago, but then he was poisoned, in agony, dying, and Buffy…

Why did she do it? Out of love, of course. The blood of a Slayer, the only cure, the only thing that could save him, and he didn’t want to, but…

Buffy would have brought him Faith, thinking she poisoned him so she should be the one to provide the cure, but when Faith got away, presumed dead, Buffy turned to the only other Slayer in existence to save him: Herself.

He resisted as long as he could, but she just wouldn’t let him die. She always was stubborn. She pleaded, and shouted, and demanded, and when that didn’t work she started hitting him until in his agonised delirium he lost the last shreds of self-control and vamped out.

Maybe he still could have held back, if he hadn’t already been so weak and the demon that little bit stronger than his human soul, but she was so close, the scent of her blood flowing just beneath her skin intoxicating him, and without really meaning to, he sank his fangs into that tender throat and…

If the scent of her blood was intoxicating, what did that make the taste? It flooded his mouth, hot and rich, as he felt her heart pounding against him. There was fear in her blood, yes, and strength, and power, but over and above it all had been love and passion, intensifying the taste that was, more than anything else, Buffy, and sweet heaven, just like the night they’d slept together, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

He kept drinking until he felt her heart start to stutter, faltering, losing its rhythm, and it was that which brought him to his senses. He felt well again, powerful, and stronger than he had in a long time. That was good because it took all the strength he could muster to pry his fangs from Buffy’s throat and stop the bleeding. He barely remembered the dash to the hospital, fighting the urge to drink from her again, to taste that richness once more, even though one more sip might be enough to kill her. Love overrode his vampire instincts, but just barely, and he knew then for sure that he couldn’t be around her anymore; it just wasn’t safe, not for either of them. He would stay for the battle, it was the least he owed Buffy, but once that was over, he’d be gone.

He knew she wouldn’t see it that way, but he needed to put her welfare before his own selfish desires. One day, perhaps, she’d understand it was better this way.

The End


End file.
